Irrefutable Evidence
by TangerineFields
Summary: Remus, as the sole survivor of that fated Halloween, is bombarded by the press as he struggles and then fails to deal with the deaths of his best friends and the betrayal of his lover in the run up to James and Lily's funeral. RemusxSirius


A/N: So here it, the attempt at a chaptered fic. Remus' acceptance of Sirius' imprisonment as always niggled at me, so I'm having a crack at explaining it. I hope you enjoy it.

(Just in case anyone wonders, 'cock' is a shortening of 'cocker' which is a Northern English term of affection)

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling's characters and places are, of course the production of her incredibly impressive imagination. My thanks also go to the London Tube map, for helping me work out Remus' route.

**Irrefutable Evidence**

"Mr Lupin, could you describe to me the nature of your and Mr Black's relationship?"

Remus glanced warily at the woman, perched primly on the edge of the only other armchair in the room (the one he was forcing himself to refer to as anything but Sirius'). "I'm afraid I don't understand the question."

Fiona Braxton's Quick Quotes Quill hovered impatiently above its floating pad. She sighed, "I was trying to be discreet, Mr Lupin, but I see that it will not be conducive to our conversation. Was your relationship with Mr Black based entirely on sex, or was there a deeper," she paused, "Connection?"

Remus nearly lost his tea. "Excuse me?"

"Mr Lupin," There was that ever so disdainful sigh again, "Many of my readers will find your sexual orientation…difficult." She smiled tightly at him. "It would greatly put their minds at ease to know that your attachment to him was purely," she waved a dismissive hand, "Animal attraction, if you will."

Remus put down his cup, suddenly very aware that this woman was sitting in Sirius' armchair. The one with the coffee stains on the arms and years worth of fluff and sickles and sweet papers down the back, not to mention the wrapping for quite a few dozen condoms. "Would it bother your readers greatly if I said I loved him?" He tried not to sneer, but he had a feeling it had crept in.

"Well, it would certainly make them feel rather uncomfortable." She smiled charmingly at him, as if he were a small and incredibly backward child. "Did you _love_ each other, Mr Lupin?"

Remus looked away in disgust and before he realised his mistake, found himself staring at the glowing faces laughing at him from their comfortable spot on the mantelpiece. A snap of them from James and Lily's wedding, love radiatied from it.

"I don't see how that's particularly relevant," he said, curtly.

"Well as I said-"

He looked at the clock. "I think that will be all, Ms Braxton. Thank you." He stood up, and rallying all that was charitable, held out his hand.

"Right, well," Quill still scribbling furiously, she picked up her coat, and shook Remus' hand as if it were a wet fish. "Thank you so much for your time, Mr Lupin. It goes without saying that we at the Prophet appreciate how difficult-"

"Yes." Remus cut her off, increasingly insulted by the repetition of set phrases, drenched in journalism's particular brand of manufactured sympathy. "Thank you."

He showed her to the door, knowing he didn't have to, knowing he would have done no matter how she had treated him. At first, he'd tried to muster the energy to be offended. It hadn't taken him long to cave. He watched her click up the overgrown garden path in her professionally high heels. The smell of her perfume drifted mockingly back at him and lingered in the doorway.

He closed front door the moment the gate squealed shut behind her. His tea had gone cold. As he took it into the kitchen, he caught sight of one of Sirius' handwritten notes, scrawled across a ripped A4 sheet and tacked lopsidedly to the fridge.

He stepped towards it, pressing a blank palm against the scrawl and bit back a sob. He heard the crash before he realised he'd dropped his cup. It lay in scatterbrain porcelain pieces across the linoleum, tea seeping up the hems of his trousers.

"Fuck." He choked. Swearing had become his comfort food, his vice. He knew long nights on the bottle would follow. He had accepted that but for now, this retreat into the vulgar and the crass would have to suffice. He let a tear go and felt his skin cling to it.

Tea was soaking into the hard skin on the bottoms of his feet and he stepped out of the mess he made, drawing his hand away from the note as thought it burnt him. He couldn't face getting the mop. The linoleum was already covered in stains. Splash marks and footprints would make no difference in a floor more mess than crisscrossed cream and besides, he thought ruefully, if he didn't appear able to play the victim, perhaps the broken china and his treacherous hands would play that card for him.

* * *

><p>The tube was packed, the early morning commuter rush making a sweltering tin of pilchards out of the carriage. An accident on the line had brought the 6.36 Northern line train from Morden to a juddering standstill. Remus, having caught the train from Balham, had managed to squeeze into a seat next to a grave looking, briefcase wielding man in a suit and a frazzled young woman whose toddler kept attempting to lick a strip down the windowpane. Remus watched him as he pocketed his florescent sweet for the twentieth time in a quarter of an hour and made to stand up. His mother made a strangled little noise and pulled him back down, his eyes filling with angry tears. She glanced desperately at Remus, who turned away.<p>

"Oi!" One of the old men across the carriage caught Remus' eye as he scanned the packed train for something neutral to latch onto. Remus started, his cheeks burning as he felt every eye in the vicinity turn disbelievingly on the old codger. Remus could read their minds as if they were writ clear on their faces, and was sure the same look plastered his own: no one talks on the tube. Not at this time in the morning. We all have to sit here in stuffy silence as it slowly propels us toward the City.

"Excuse me?" He said, falteringly.

"Pass me the paper, mate."

Remus glanced down and saw a dog eared copy of the Independent stuffed between the seats. The suited banker next to him shifted uncomfortably as Remus dug it out gradually, feeling the weight in his stomach begin to grow. He only allowed himself the briefest glance at the cover before passing it through the press of bodies who were already beginning to lose interest in this blip in their reliably identical routines. The image of Sirius that adorned the front page was no Muggle mugshot and Remus was left struggling with sickening arousal.

The old man wasn't finished.

"Look at 'im," He muttered, "Poncy bastard. Looks like 'e's at a bloody photo shoot."

One of the woman pressed up against the doors tutted and entered the game. "13 people dead, just like that."

"I heard it was a gas pipe." A small, mousy looking man on tiptoes to reach the overhead rail threw in.

"Sure," the old man nodded sagely, as if by right of speaking first he had become the font of all knowledge. "If you believe that crap. My mate said 'e had a bomb."

"How would you blow a gas main with a bomb?"

The old man shrugged. "Wouldn't pissing need to, would you mate? This whole gas thing, s'a cover up. There's summat 'bout this we're not bein' told." He jabbed the paper at Remus. "'Ere, what d'you think?"

Remus swallowed, wondering when he had ceased to be the shabby, bookish man everyone had brushed by without a second glance. "I heard it was a mains explosion."

The small man clutching the rail nodded. "Tore the street apart."

"Why's that dark 'aired bloke implicated then?" The woman pressed against the door asked.

The old man made to reply but was cut off by a clunk as the lights flashed. There was a low growl and the train powered back up.

"Apologies for the delay, ladies and gentlemen. This train will reach Euston station nore more than 4 minutes later than timetabled. Thank you for your patience."

"Fuckin' hell." The old man muttered as he opened the paper, leaving Remus pinioned by Sirius' frozen image, looming amidst the neutral faces of the victims. "Take their bloody time, don't they?"

* * *

><p>By the time Remus emerged from Charring Cross station, a grey drizzle had descended on London's streets. It fell silently in the strips of yellow from car headlights and well before he'd reached the shelter of the Leaky Caldron, Remus was drenched.<p>

Diagon Alley was quiet, stilled by the early morning November chill and the drizzle that had put pay to all but the most urgent of dashes to the shops before work. A woman from the Ministry disappeared into Ollivander's as Remus passed. He'd learnt to spot Ministry employees a mile off. They all wore identical looks of haggard self satisfaction.

The lamps were still lit outside Flourish and Blotts, casting beams of rippling light onto the sodden pavement. The bell clanged cheerfully as he stepped into the warmth and Remus paused for a moment to let the smell of the books, the old mahogany shelves and Elsie's favourite of teas, Lady Grey, infuse his aching mind. He hadn't been to work since Halloween, and without a word, November had swiftly descended, darkening the streets and chilling the breeze. He shuddered in the warm air. In the space of four days the landscape of his life had shifted so completely that his job was now all he had left to cling onto. He moved through the low tables, avoiding books piled precariously with practised ease, unconsciously noting the titles, the positions of new arrivals, of Fredrick Hickleworth's "Mugwort Farming for Novices and Former Ravenclaws", a fearsome tome by Esmelda Simpson entitled "Advanced Taxidermy – Get Extra Wear from that Favourite Owl" and finally, piled up on the counter, the book Remus knew was lying on the floor of his side of the bed, unopened and wrapped in deep blue paper, ready for Sirius' birthday, Vikas Roy's "Flying Trains, Tantric Dancing and the Disappearance of the Taj Mahal – An Auror in India". He stopped and stared at the book, propped up next to the ancient till as his insides begin to burrow through his stomach lining, and then pressed the bell on the counter.

"Elsie?"

"Oh Remus, pet!" Elsie was impossible to age, and in reality, Remus doubted she was much older than him, but she was certainly one of those people who had popped out of her mother already forty-five and beaming about it. She hurried out of the backroom in a flurry of shawls and a tumble of blonde hair ineffectually tied with a paisley head scarf and enfolded him in a hug. "You shouldn'ta come! I told yer!" She held him at arms length. "Ay, love, you do look rough."

"It is alright for me to work today?" Remus couldn't help but smile. Elsie never failed to cheer him up. "You haven't got extra help in?"

She waved him away, "Rather have you any day, love." Then folding his hand in hers she said, "You gonna be alright, cock? Cos yer know what customers can be like. No care for who might be listenin'. Been a mite insensitive like recently."

"I'll be fine, Elsie. Honestly. I just need to get out of the house."

She smiled at him and patted his hand, "I know chick, I know. Come on, come an' have a cuppa. Della'll be here in a min and no one's gonna want Esmelda Simpson in this weather, ay?"

* * *

><p>"Could you wrap it for me?" An elderly witch with a shock of white hair leant over the counter. "It's for my granddaughter."<p>

Remus smiled tightly, aware of the queue building up behind her.

"Here," Della leant over, playfully jogging Remus' elbow. "I'll do it."

"Thank you dear," The old witch shuffled happily to one side, and was replaced by a tired man pushing identical twins in a huge buggy. How he'd managed to manoeuvre it through the shop, Remus couldn't fathom. He dropped a pile of children's books on the counter.

Remus glanced at them, and saw with a sinking heart that one of them was 'Why I love Dragons'. He bit his lip and then leant across the counter. "Are you quite sure about that particular book, sir?"

The man looked instantly nervously. "My wife suggested it. What…I mean, why wouldn't I be?"

Remus sighed, "I'm afraid it breathes fire."

"Oh." The man's face fell. "Right. Well, thanks, I'll give that one a miss then, shall I?"

Remus didn't think it was possible to feel more grateful. His fingers were only just recovering from the last ill advised purchase. "Can I get you anything else, sir?"

"Nah, thanks." The man glanced down at his twins, who were fighting over a rattle. Remus looked sympathetic, until he realised he was being stared at.

"Say, are you-"

"Yes," Remus said curtly, as he passed the bag of books over the counter. "3 galleons, 7 sickles, please."

The man looked mildly put out, as he dug in his wallet for change. "I just wanted to say," he persisted. "How impressed I am that you're, well, back at work. It must be very difficult."

Remus stopped and looked at him. "Thank you," he said. "I'm sorry, people aren't usually this sympathetic."

The man tutted. "I think that's terrible," he muttered. "Some people. Good on you, mate."

Remus smiled after him, shaking his head as he pushed the till shut. It was true. Customers had been a mixed bag. Most, thank the gods, didn't say anything but the few that did had been haughty, mildly disdainful and took their change from his hand as if he had something terribly contagious. He sighed and glanced up and was met by a pair of large and incredibly intense brown eyes.

"Can I help you?" There was a definite lack of books on the counter, and if she needed something finding, Elsie was doing the rounds, unmistakeable in her cloud of rose perfume and several thousand chiffon scarves.

"I was wondering what Remus Lupin is doing back at work?"

Remus closed his eyes and took a breath. She had a press badge on. Behind her, the acres of queue rippled impatiently. "It's a Wednesday," he said. "I work on Wednesdays."

"Right," she smiled tightly at him. "Not some sort of cover up act, then?"

Remus stared incredulously at her, "I don't understand."

"Well," her voice rose a couple of decibels. "It is a bit odd, isn't it? That you lived with Sirius Black and didn't know he was a psychopath? Didn't realise he was working for," she paused and stared at Remus. "You Know Who. A little suspicious."

Remus swallowed and stared her out. "I didn't know," he stated emotionlessly. "I would never have believed it of him."

She snorted disbelievingly. The queue was beginning to mutter. One man toward the back yelled. "She's right, she is! How'd you not know, aye?"

Remus felt his cheeks flare. "I didn't know!" He shouted toward the back, struggling to keep a tremor from his voice. "I had no idea!"

The was a crash as a pile of books toppled to the floor, parting like a sea for Elsie as she hurried from the back of the shop. "Excuse me!" She planted herself protectively in front of the till. "This is private property. You don't have no right to behave like that toward my staff. Out with yer!"

The doe eyed journalist glanced back at Remus and smiled triumphantly as Elsie ushered her through the queue, and out onto the street, where a crowd of people had already gathered.

Remus stared down at his hands, bent under the weight of the shop's collective gaze.

"Come on, love," Elsie's hand folded around his arm. "Let's get you a cuppa."

* * *

><p>The tube ride home had been hellish. Remus played the confrontation over and over and over in his head to the point at which he completely lost his grip on reality and missed his stop. It was an inevitable accusation. He was lucky to have gone this long before someone had confronted him with it. He had been Sirius' lover, and yet he hadn't known. If there were signs, he hadn't seen them. Admittedly, their relationship had deteriorated in the last few months, worn down by stress and suspicion but he had loved Sirius up until that terrible moment at which the news had been broken to him and he swore Sirius had loved him. And yet, he hadn't known. Impossible, surely.<p>

He drew a hand across his face as he moved into the dark of the alley. Footsteps echoed toward him, but he was so wrapped up in the young journalist's words that for a moment he didn't recognise her face as it floated out of the gloom toward him.

"You didn't answer my question."

She would have been laughably tiny if not for those eyes. Remus felt stripped naked by them. He shuddered and attempted to push past her but the alley was narrow and she wasn't budging.

"Are you running away, Remus?"

"I told you," he tried and failed to keep the note of desperation from his voice. "I didn't know. I didn't know."

"How?" She caught him with the full force of her stare and he backed away from her. "How did you not know?"

"What?" He was too tired to be rational, too tired to be reasonable and far too tired to control the surge of anger that was bubbling up in his chest. "Are you seriously suggesting I had some part in this? That I covered up for him? They were my best friends!"

"He was your lover!"

"For god's sake!" Remus pushed past her, wincing despite his anger when she fell backwards into the wall. "I didn't fucking know."

"How?" Her voice rang after him as he stormed down the alley. "He was working for You Know Who, Remus! How? How did you not know?"


End file.
